


Hypoglycemic Shock

by ramblingAnthropologist



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Brief moment of hypoglycemia, Shepard might not be diabetic but his author is, and guess who's projecting, broken door time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblingAnthropologist/pseuds/ramblingAnthropologist
Summary: Garrus is still new to the Normandy, so there's some growing pains. Thing is, nobody warned him humans just... break down like the door he just pounded through. Oh well... at least he cares about his commanding officer? Maybe a little too much...
Relationships: Alistair Shepard and sugar, Garrus is losing a relationship with his nerves
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Hypoglycemic Shock

**Author's Note:**

> Shepard might not be diabetic, but I am... and I might be projecting a little bit. Just a little bit.
> 
> All of these are indeed symptoms of hypoglycemia, so if you're experiencing them, maybe consider checking in with a doctor. Diabetes is no joke, and DKA can hit you like an atomic bomb. Be safe, kids.

You know, for a turian designed vessel… the Normandy was stupidly human.

“Come on, damn it… open.”

Garrus hissed under his breath as he nudged the door a little harder in the hope it would open. It was supposed to recognize anyone on the ship, but at the moment it still refused to pick him up. Maybe it was just too used to humans at this point – after all, he was the first turian there in a long time. It was a logical thought, but it didn’t make him feel any better as he continued to fight for access.

Really, he knew he was overreacting. Shepard was probably fine…

He cursed again as the door to the man’s quarters refused to open. All the while, his memory played back when they had gotten off the shuttle. It had been a simple mission for the Spectre and his team – go in, save some people, shoot some mercs. Nobody on their side died or even got hurt much. It was pretty much a perfect mission.

Perfect except for the fact that Shepard had been silent as they got out of their armor in the small cargo bay afterwards. There had been a strange lean to his step as he climbed into the elevator before any of them, eyes more hollow than usual. Not hurt but… definitely something off.

There were possibilities. Garrus wasn’t a medic, but he knew enough about concussions to guess that the man shouldn’t be alone where nobody could watch him. If he had knocked his head hard enough, he needed medical attention. The turian hadn’t known him long enough, but he could only hope a medic would accept it.

And if he didn’t… well, he was tiny. Garrus figured he could probably toss him over his carapace and head over to the medbay if he got difficult.

Speaking of difficult… the lock was still orange. Frustrated, the turian pounded his tightly clenched talons against the door with perhaps more strength than was necessarily. The whole display shuddered, and then went dark. Then the door slid open with a slight hiss, allowing him access to his commanding officer’s private quarters.

He would… fix that later. For sure.

“Shepard, your door got stuck.” He called out as he stepped through, looking around the darkened room. Had the man gone to sleep? A noise like that should have woken him up. Speaking of noise – there was an incessant beeping that made him think someone had slept through their alarm. “Shepard, I -”

His motion caused the lights to activate. Garrus felt his heart jump to his cowl as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Shepard wasn’t in bed. Instead, he was fully dressed and slumped over his desk, as if he had just collapsed there.

The turian didn’t have time to check for breathing. He bounded over to the man’s side, nudging him gently so he could see his face. Shepard’s eyes were closed, and his skin was pale. He was breathing, but it was shallow and uneven.

“Shepard? Shepard, can you hear me?”

The human moaned something nonsensical and tried to shrug Garrus’ hand away, but it was no good. He was moving like he was drunk, and he felt slick with sweat. A thousand diseases rushed through the turian’s mind as he started to pick his commanding officer up to take him to the medbay. As he moved him, the man’s wrist came into view.

His omni-tool was beeping up a storm. A large red number was displayed on the surface, reading out a glowing 22. A small graph was attached, showing it going steadily down since they had left on the shuttle.

“What the hell?”

At the sound of his voice, a message replaced the number: hypoglycemia detected. Administer emergency glucose supply immediately.

“Glucose supply?” Garrus glanced around with wide eyes, finally finding a box on the man’s desk labeled with the same words. He grabbed for it, knocking the lid open in the process. A few paper tubes spilled out, all bright green.

He had seen Shepard eating those before.

The turian didn’t think. He made a grab for one, ripping the paper open as he had seen the human do a thousand times before. The powder inside smelled chemically sour and was a fluorescent shade of green. Gently, he inserted the tube between the man’s lips and tilted it back. This too he had seen Shepard do, during a few nights neither of them could sleep.

Would it be enough?

Garrus could feel both their hearts beating as he stood there, waiting and hoping. Minutes ticked by, but they felt like a lifetime. Shepard continued to mumble in his arms, but the number on his wrist was starting to go up. Slowly, it went from 22 to 30, and then it hit 45 after a few more tense moments.

An eye opened at 50.

“What?”

His voice was surprisingly strong, all things considered. Shepard sat up on his own power, holding his head. Color was starting to return to his cheeks, and his heart rate was slowing. His omni-tool was still beeping, but less frenetically.

Garrus felt his heart restart. “Shepard I… you were acting strange. I found you collapsed at your desk.”

The man blinked, like his brain was still turning on. “I collapsed?”

He glanced at his wrist, then grimaced. “Ah, shit. I thought I treated that low. How bad did it get that I passed out?”

And then he glanced lower. “And uh… why are you holding me?”

Garrus almost dropped Shepard. Luckily, he managed to deposit the man in his seat at the last second. He sought the other room’s chair just as quickly, his own heart pounding. He could still barely believe his eyes.

What the hell was in that powder to take the Spectre from dead to nearly functional in less than 20 minutes?

It took him a while to find his tongue. “I thought you might need…”

He paused, shaking his head. “Never mind. It was 22. Mind telling me what the hell that was all about?”

Shepard was already peeling off another stick of powder and tossing it back like a shot. It had to be sour – he grimaced a little as it went down. Maybe it was some sort of Alliance energy booster to keep them from passing out in the field? It wasn’t like he had seen anyone else with it…

“I have biotic-induced hypoglycemia.” He tossed the empty wrapper away. “Basically, my body’s relying on my sugar to keep my biotics going. That 22 was a bad low.”

Garrus nodded, but it didn’t mean much to him. “And that caused you to pass out?”

“No sugar, no brain juice, down goes Shepard.” Shepard was checking his omni-tool now; a flash of the wrist showed the turian it was now 70. “I guess I need to tell you the signs of low blood sugar if you’re going to hang around.”

He was just so… calm about it. Sure, they were all battle-hardened soldiers… but there was dying from a bullet, and then there was dying because your body forgot how to work. The latter was frankly terrifying to Garrus as he sat there, absorbing the information. His head was spinning, to say the least.

How the hell had this man passed basic with something like that?

“Yeah… you probably should.”

Shepard’s face was back to its normal color as he cleaned up his emergency energy supply. “If I start acting like a space cadet or I bump into things more than usual, that’s a good sign. Lower I get, the less I make sense. I feel really sweaty, so that was probably going on too.”

His cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry if I… I know it’s alarming the first time. Thanks for saving me, Garrus. Any lower and you probably would’ve had to take me to the med bay.”

Hell, they had been one talon away from the damn place. Still, the turian’s heart still refused to slow. He knew he was being ridiculous, but… damn, if a body just giving up on somebody like that wasn’t terrifying.

And humans just put up with that?

“Let’s just say you were close.” He looked towards the door. “Er… take care of yourself, Shepard. I’ll see you around.”

“I will… thanks, Garrus.”

With that, they parted. Garrus started for the door, which was still wide open. A few of the other alliance marines were watching from the other side, none of them looking too surprised. A few even seemed amused.

Shepard was at his side, glancing at the busted panel. “So uh… I’m guessing you broke the door panel coming to my rescue?”

A hole to die in would have been great right then, but life wasn’t that kind. Garrus at least managed to keep his head high as he walked past the display. At least he had the memory to glance over his shoulder at where the Spectre was poking at the broken panel.

“I’ll come back with my tools to fix that in a few minutes. Just let your sugar return to normal or whatever it has to do.”

At least nobody said anything as the turian retreated to where he kept his things. For once, he was glad to be the only one of his species on the ship as his subvocals blasted out 100% embarrassment. It had been so simple, yet he had gone in like it was the end of the world.

Being on a human ship was clearly doing something to his head. That had to be the answer. Or at least, that was the one he was going to tell himself as he spent the next hour fixing Shepard’s door. He just hoped nobody pulled the vid on that rescue…


End file.
